


things that never change

by largoindminor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crying, Hand Job, M/M, hot dogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largoindminor/pseuds/largoindminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what happened (in my head) after sam and dean went back home after 10x21</p>
            </blockquote>





	things that never change

**Author's Note:**

> just a sleepy drabble i wrote last night when i should have been sleeping. originally posted over [here](http://sasquatchandleatherjacket.tumblr.com/post/118754447627/sam-goes-off-toward-the-bedrooms-as-soon-as-they). (also is there another word for _hot dogging_? i hate that phrase but like idk another euphemism for doing that)

Sam goes off toward the bedrooms as soon as they return to the bunker, Dean can hear him through the walls, muffled noises from the bathroom. He vomits, retches, Dean’s thankful Sam made it all the way home and out of sight before that. Hears the shower turn on, knows Sam’s trying to do the impossible- wash it away, scrub off the film of failure and defeat and death that clings to them. Dean wants to feel bad for him, but he can’t. Sam lied to him, disregarded his wishes. Sam partnered with evil, he brought their friends into it, and one of them paid with her life. Dean  _wants_ to want to comfort Sam, but right now he doesn’t.

Hours later, Dean half sits-half lies in his bed, propped on three pillows, and tries to find the right music to chase away his thoughts. Nothing works, the constant ache in his chest dulls all his other senses and the music may as well be static. His thoughts go to Sam and the pain sharpens, amplified by mistrust, regret, grief. Rationally, Dean knows this isn’t Sam’s fault, but his emotions overcame rationality, and his first instinct was to lash out, to blame Sam. He knows Sam’s instinct will be to blame himself as well.

Dean opens Sam’s door without a knock and walks inside. Sam is on his side, back towards Dean, but Dean can tell from his breathing that he’s awake. He lifts back the cover and crawls in without an invitation, wraps both arms around Sam’s sturdy chest and noses along the back of Sam’s neck. He doesn’t talk, can’t, afraid of what he’ll say, what fresh argument he’ll start, but he touches, soothes with his hands. Sam stiffens in his arms briefly, then relaxes, then sobs.

Dean holds him like that for a long time, Sam’s sobs devolve into shaky breaths, then deeper breaths, more steady as he calms down. Dean’s still mad, god is he mad, but he loves Sam beyond all comprehension and nothing can ever change that. He needs to show Sam that, he doesn’t have the words, not yet, but he can still tell him.

Dean’s hand drifts down Sam’s chest to slip under them hem of his t-shirt and up again. He rubs up Sam’s firm stomach, his broad chest, places wet kisses on the back of Sam’s neck.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is soft and pleading and cracked from crying.

“Shh,” Dean says, his hand roams back down to the waistband of Sam’s shorts, and just underneath, and Sam lets out a long breath and nods, his body unconsciously pushes back to press closer to Dean. Dean’s fingers slide across the smooth skin that stretches between Sam’s hipbones, scrapes lightly with his nails and feels Sam’s muscles flutter underneath. His hand drifts lower, tickles through coarse hair, caresses the soft crease of Sam’s thigh, rubs up and over Sam’s hip to the knead into the side of his ass, and then back to the beginning, a leisurely, teasing touch that repeats until Sam’s whole body is trembling from it.

Dean can feel his own arousal growing, burning hot where Sam’s back side presses up against him. He rocks his hips at the same leisurely pace, tries to take them both slowly, concentrates on the exquisite friction and the raw intimacy between them. His mouth presses up against Sam’s neck, not really kissing, just resting there on the skin, lips are slightly parted and when his tongue slips between them he can taste the salt of Sam’s skin. Dean wants to kiss him, flip him around and dive recklessly into Sam’s mouth but he can’t, afraid of what will happen if he looks Sam in the eye, and it hurts, aches deep inside his rib cage in the places only Sam can get to.

“Please,” Sam says, and it comes out like a sob, his voice shattered, and Dean aches even more.

He throws one leg over Sam, to pull him in even closer and reaches down to wrap his hand around the base of Sam’s cock, pulls one long stroke up and over the head and back down, slicks precome along the shaft as he goes and Sam cries, from pleasure or something else Dean doesn’t know, but Sam doesn’t say stop so he doesn’t. The steady rhythm of his hips is lost now and Dean’s grinding into Sam in desperation, his erection pokes through the front of his shorts and slots against Sam’s boxer clad ass. Sam reaches behind himself now, touches Dean for the first time as he tries to pull him closer. He grabs the waistband of his own shorts and slips them down and Dean’s hips stutter as he feels the head of his cock slide against Sam’s bare skin.

“Sammy,” it’s the first real word he’s spoken to Sam since he entered his room, since the awful things he shouted at him in anger earlier that evening. His voice is raw from yelling and his throat is sore, but it feels good to say it anyway.

Sam bucks into Dean’s hand, quickens the pace, and Dean takes the hint. He slides his hand faster now, applies a bit more pressure as he swoops his palm over the slick skin at the tip, swoops over and again along the most sensitive part of Sam’s cock. His own cock is buried just between the plush cheeks of Sam’s ass, the drag of Sam’s sweat damp skin almost agonizingly pleasurable. Dean’s close to coming, and he knows Sam is too, he’s practically whining with each flick of Dean’s wrist. Dean opens his mouth over Sam’s neck again and scrapes his teeth gently over the skin and Sam’s done for, his whole body shakes with the force from his orgasm and Dean can’t hold back either, continues to stroke Sam’s cock as he bites down hard and comes all over the small of Sam’s back.

When Sam’s tremors subside, Dean stills his hand on his cock, but holds him, feels the flesh cool and soften in his hand and it feels more intimate than anything else they’d just done. He holds him like that until the come pooled in his hand and across Sam’s back starts to dry, and he reluctantly lets go, sits up to remove his t-shirt and use it to wipe away most of the mess. Dean’s not sure whether he wants to lie back down or leave the room but he looks down at Sam, still curled on his side, barely even moved from the position he was in when Dean first came to him, and recognizes the faint movement of Sam’s shoulders, the small quiver that belies Sam’s tears, and Dean can’t leave him.

“Sammy,” he says, and lies back down, throws an arm loosely over Sam’s waist, “Sam I- I’m angry, I’m so pissed. But that don’t mean… I mean, I still… you know I-” and he can’t get the words out, he  _can’t,_  but he means them so much anyway. He tries again, “Nothing will change that, you know?” And Sam nods, and relaxes a little more back into Dean’s embrace and takes Dean’s hand in his. And Dean thinks he gets it, hopes he does, but he’ll try to say it again later just to be sure.


End file.
